Woman and Artist

by Max O'Rell

"Let him be what he likes; what on earth does it matter to me?" exclaimed Philip. "Really, Dora, you can help me with a few smiles; ask him to come and see you on one of your Thursdays, without compromising yourself, and without your virtue running any danger. It ought to be easy enough for a woman to protect her virtue against a man—in a drawing-room," added Philip, with a slightly mocking air which intensely displeased Dora.

"Yes, much easier than protecting one's reputation against women. I hope you will not insist. I shall receive the General politely, that goes without saying, but I shall certainly not ask him to come and see me on the days I receive or the days on which I do not receive."

Philip and Dora looked at each other for a few seconds. They seemed both very determined.

"And suppose I insist," said Philip, who was the first to break the silence, "and, what is more, suppose I expect you to do what I wish?"

"In that case," said Dora, "since there is no other way of obtaining your indulgence, stay a moment and listen to me."

Philip looked at the clock.

"There is plenty of time," continued Dora, "we have nearly half an hour before anyone will come. My dear Philip, I have every reason to believe that this General Sabaroff is no stranger to me. Perhaps I should have told you this before, but when I have been on the point of doing so, I always said to myself, 'What is the use?' and I really did not see the need of it. This is the incident in two words. When I was nineteen, just out of the schoolroom, my aunt took me to winter in the Riviera. Among the many people we met there was a Colonel Sabaroff, a man of about thirty-five. From the first he paid me marked attention, and at the end of two months he made me an offer of marriage. He was handsome, clever, say fascinating if you like, had the reputation of being a brilliant officer, and was much sought after in society. I, a mere child, could not but feel flattered at his choice of me. What my answer might have been—I had asked for a week to consider it—I can scarcely tell, although my heart, I can say in all sincerity, was not touched. A bal masqué was to be held that week and my aunt had subscribed to it, but she disliked public balls, and it had been decided that we were not to go, especially as she thought it hardly proper for two women alone to be present at such a ball. You know, my aunt was then still young and pretty. However, my uncle, arriving from England on the day of the ball, persuaded her to let him take me, for he guessed at my eagerness to go, and he assured her that if he came with me, the strictest British propriety would be satisfied. When we reached the ball, it was already late. After making a tour of the rooms, we sat down in a dimly lit conservatory, and I was just going to tell him of the offer of marriage I had received, when I started at hearing Colonel Sabaroff's voice in low but fierce altercation with that of a woman. Both were masked, and the language they spoke in was French, which was unintelligible to my uncle. Signing to him to keep silence, I listened intently. My own future was decided in those few minutes. But what need I tell you more except that I, a girl ignorant of all the world's falseness and ugly coarseness, sat dumfounded, petrified, as the history of a vulgar liaison was unfolded to my young ears, and the man who had asked for my hand and heart flung off a wretched woman who, to her own undoing, had given herself to him a year before."

"What did you do?" asked Philip.

"I sat spellbound as long as their conversation lasted; but when they rose and passed in front of us, I removed my mask, looked the man straight in the face, and, in as steady a voice as I could command, asked my uncle to take me home."

"Did you see any more of him after that?"